


Confessions

by teddybards



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Smut, Geralt likes giving head, Gratuitous Smut, Hurt Jaskier | Dandelion, Implied/ referenced transphobia, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, Insecure Jaskier | Dandelion, M/M, Minor Original Character(s), Oral Sex, Protective Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Protectiveness, Sleepy Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Trans Jaskier | Dandelion, Trans Male Character, Vaginal Fingering, bathtub scene, please do not bind with bandages i am begging you, understanding!Geralt, unsafe binding
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-04
Updated: 2020-07-04
Packaged: 2021-03-04 19:41:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25071802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/teddybards/pseuds/teddybards
Summary: He looked away as the Witcher unbuttoned his shirt to examine the damage to his chest. 3...2...1... The bard counted down until- a-ha! The pause. The "Oh" moment. Jaskier bit his lip, and tears stung in his eyes. Always like this, always will be. How many times will I have to deal with this?In which Jaskier is trans and insecure, while the witcher is understanding and loves Jaskier. Re-uploading as a proper story with chapters instead of a bunch of one-shots. Chapters 1-4 happen in succession more or less.TRANS RIGHTS <3
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 1
Kudos: 76





	1. The Way Things Are

Witchers don't get scared. They don't feel - they can't feel. That's just the way things are.

The river-maiden - rusalka - moved silently and even quicker than even a mutant monster hunter could react. In the middle of the night, she was stalking her prey, and when she struck, it struck fear into the heart of Geralt of Rivia.

The Witcher turned his head, just in time to see the serpentine creature lock her impossibly strong webbed hands around his bard's throat. Their riverside camp was secluded enough, and the summer night had been quiet. In one swift movement, she flipped herself and Jaskier backward into the water - dark under fall of night. Geralt drew his sword in the same instant and pursued his prey.

Wading through the water with higher speed than a man could reach, Geralt's sharp dark-vision came in handy, searching for signs of the river-maiden of Jaskier. The river wasn't very deep, but the rusalka wouldn't have far to swim for the cover of a lake. _Fuck_.

The monster hunter was relieved to find a target at last, but it was the pale hands of a bard, struggling madly to grasp onto the roots and eroded earth at the side of the river. Geralt lunged for the thing that had her hands around Jaskier's throat, knee in the bard's chest. The brunette was submerged but for a single hand desperate clawing at the riverbank.

The Witcher gripped, twisted, and yanked the rusalka's hair forcefully, and she let go of her prey with a shriek. The river-maiden thrashed violently, and Geralt roared, teeth bared, as he held her up and out at arm's length. He turned and threw her small, scaly body quite a distance away from the bard. She slammed down hard into the shallow water at last, and by the time the rusalka was ready to strike, the Witcher was already upon her.

One smooth, quick slice of silver removed her head from the rest of her. Black blood dripped from his blade, and smoke sizzled from the rusalka's dismembered pieces. _Done_. Geralt was needed elsewhere now.

The bard had slipped open-mouthed into the river, hitting his head on the way down. Jaskier had been underwater since the Witcher had torn the rusalka away by her hair. When Geralt turned to look for Jaskier at the riverbank, he didn't even see his companion's hand.

 _Fuck._ Hauling ass once again through the water, sword sheathed and properly soaking wet, the Witcher prepared for the worst. Luckily, the current wasn't powerful, so the bard hadn't floated away. Geralt roughly wrapped one of his strong arms around the man's chest, up under his armpits. With his other hand planted on the hard riverbank, he swung the bard up and out. The white-haired one followed by pulling himself up, and dragging Jaskier further out and under the shelter of the trees.

"Come on, Jaskier," Geralt straddled the lanky bard, unconscious, unresponsive, not breathing. He started chest compressions, harder than usual. "If.. you would... Breathe!" The yellow-eyed one knew he'd need to breathe for his bard now. With Jaskier's mouth gently held open, head tipped back, the Witcher pressed his mouth to the bard's cold, wet, lips, and he breathed. One long, steady breath. Geralt raised his head, inhaled, and repeated another breath into Jaskier's mouth. A strangled, choked sound erupted from beneath him all of a sudden.

The Witcher moved from on top of Jaskier to help the smaller man roll onto his side. The bard coughed, gasped, and spluttered through the process of expelling river water from his lungs. Geralt rubbed his back and hushed him.

"O-oddly, aff-affectionate of you... G-Geralt," Jaskier rasped out, turning to face the one who had just saved his life. He cried out sharply, doubling over in sudden pain.

"What? Jaskier?" Geralt was alert and took his hands off his bard instantly. "Your ribs?"

Jaskier's voice was extremely strained and weak when he responded. "It's nothing." His hand was clutching his side.

Geralt reached for that same hand and looked to the man's eyes imploringly. "Let me help." Jaskier's nod was small, and his breathing was shallow. _Here we go_ , he thought with dread.

Geralt helped him lay down on the grass. He looked away as the Witcher unbuttoned his shirt to examine the damage to his chest. 3...2...1... The bard counted down until- a-ha! The pause. The "Oh" moment. Jaskier bit his lip, and tears stung in his eyes. Always like this, always will be. _How many times will I have to deal with this?_

Geralt never knew much about who his companion - no, friend - had been before they met, aside from all the antics involving nobles and bedrooms. He never had the slightest reason to find out this particular facet of Jaskier's background, and it didn't change his opinion of the man. The bard's chest was bound tightly, under two or three layers of thick bandages, to disguise its undesired softness. To be fair, Geralt kind of understood - he knew there was always a price to being the best version of yourself, and he could use the Witcher transformation and even Yennefer's sacrifice to become a sorcerer as an example. And the Witcher knew that there were lots of ways that lots of different people change their appearance to better suit their true selves, so he wasn't flinching. The binding was worth the pain for his precious bard, and Geralt wouldn't question that. He felt a pang of guilt over how hard his chest compressions were, now that he knew how much pressure the bard's chest was under from the bandages.

Geralt's heart sunk when he looked over and saw the tears flowing freely from Jaskier's eyes. The bard was trembling, hands fisted in the grass at his sides. "That's it, right? That's too strange, even for you? Right?" The bard's voice was quiet. This is just the way it has always been. "Gonna find a better follower now? Who would want me around ... I've heard it all." The bard lay still. "Stupid… _girl_." He snapped his mouth shut and set his jaw, refusing to meet the white-haired one's eyes.

One strong, broad hand spread out in a soothing motion across the bard's bound chest - Geralt's hand. He was gentle, and Jaskier shivered. He, at last, turned his eyes to search for the other's yellow ones in the darkness. They met, and Geralt spoke.

"I want you around, Jaskier. I need you around. You remind me to feel... Jaskier, I was so afraid to lose you today. Because... I care about you. And this..." He ran his thumb over the soaked bandages. "Isn't changing that. But I need to take them off until you're fully recovered from this river bitch's attempted drowning." Geralt inhaled. "And I did a number on your chest too, bastard, but you weren't breathing."

Jaskier was speechless. Genuinely, unable to respond. Partially from pain, and from hearing those words. _He cares_ _about_ _me_... "Geralt I-" the bard groaned, eyes squinting shut.

"These first." Geralt said shortly.

The Witcher used a small knife to cut through the soaking cotton wrapped around his bard. He promised the other that he would provide much better, more comfortable bindings once he had recovered. Unbound, Jaskier coughed for a few more minutes, bare-chested and cold, with Geralt holding him up with an arm around his waist. The Witcher hummed and rubbed the other's back once again until his ears picked up a fair improvement in the sound of the other's once-waterlogged lungs.

"Can... Can we go back to camp?" Jaskier whispered, buttoning up his shirt and turning around.

"Mhmm." Geralt surprised the bard by sweeping them both up onto your feet. "Better? Than before...?"

Jaskier's eyes shone with their familiar affectionate sparkle, the one just for Geralt. "You know I'm fortunate to have someone like you who cares about me..." He stepped closer to the other, closing distance between them quickly and the Witcher wished, for some reason, that the other would put his arms around him. Geralt stood still. "You saved my life, Geralt of Rivia. And if we're sharing how we feel, then it's my turn now."

The bard finally gave his Witcher a taste of what he wanted - Jaskier's hands gently reach up behind Geralt's neck, and he pulled himself so close that his lips brushed the Witcher's ear when he confessed:

"I love you."

Slower than usual, from pain or longing, Jaskier turned on his heel and made off back to camp.

The night was silent again, but for the chirping of crickets, when the two of them were fully dry and ready for sleep. Geralt surprised both of them by laying right next to Jaskier, who still hadn't gotten a response to his confession earlier. Not that he expected one. He knew what they say about Witchers. _They don't love, that's the way it is_.

Geralt surprised Jaskier again. "I love you, too."

One, heavy arm snaking across from Geralt's bedroll, made its way to cradle Jaskier securely around his waist. The bard let himself get pulled closer, still trying to get used to the feeling of being unbound around the other, but too smitten with him and exhausted to care. Jaskier turned to glance at the Witcher one last time in the dying firelight and saw the yellow eyes closed in slumber. The bard kissed his Witcher's forehead and closed his own eyes.

He wondered to himself: _maybe the way things are can be better than the way things have always been_ , for both of them.


	2. A Man Like Him

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The bard inhaled shakily, and his Witcher was patient as he listened despite the anger boiling in his belly for the stranger that Jaskier was staring at.
> 
> "I've met those big hands of his, less than nicely, more than once. Especially after, I ... I started being who I am now. People don't take well to their ladies turning into men like me."
> 
> Geralt's eyes flashed with protective anger and outright hatred. That man had been with his bard before Jaskier was Jaskier, beat him, and hated the beautiful man for who he was. Hated this amazing, incredible man that Geralt... The Witcher shook his head as a growl rumbled in his chest.
> 
> "Come with me."

"This is my safety, Geralt, my _life_!" snapped the bard, louder than he should have. Jaskier and Geralt were still on the road (empty as ever), in the direction of a thriving town. "We have to stop somewhere now. And fix this. _Please._ " The silk-clad bard gestured to his chest, planted his feet, stood his ground, and waited. Four heartbeats later, Geralt turned Roach around.

He rode off the path, down into a small dip in the hillside that was invisible to the road. Jaskier followed, biting his lip to fight the smile that was bursting across his face. He stopped himself and took that I got what I wanted energy back when he realized: Geralt understood. Being unbound so openly legitimately put his safety on the line. Any interaction with the general public was dangerous, let alone a bustling city, or an inn full of patrons with the coin for musicians - for a man like him. Tucked behind the hillside, Jaskier slipped off his unfastened doublet (as blue as the summer afternoon sky above them), and unbuttoned the cream coloured shirt beneath.

From his pack, Geralt pulled out a roll of densely woven cotton fabric - one strip about 14 inches wide, long enough to go around Jaskier twice, the bard mused. Even doing mundane things, the Witcher was a gorgeous sight. The two of them had slept intertwined every night since the rusalka incident. The ForWitcher and his bard, however, hadn't talked about the two of them and their relationship. They were both weary from the road, but that would soon be over. There was the promise of a bed, baths, and security tonight - plus busking opportunities!

Geralt remained silent when Jaskier sweetly told him what he was thinking moments before - how he's always gorgeous, no matter what he does. The bard frowned, but hummed a tune and listened to the Witcher's instructions on how to move his body while being bound in the broader, softer bandage. Flattened, but flexible - so much that Jaskier was surprised at how much air he could inhale and exhale without trouble - the bard got dressed. Geralt mounted Roach, and they all got themselves back on the road again.

"Geralt, dearheart, you're so good to me," Jaskier crooned, walking close beside his Witcher.

"Hmm." Came the yellow-eyed one's response. His bard's anger was still close to the surface, it seemed.

"Oh, the cold shoulder. In a hurry, were you? Inconvenienced by me and my safety?"

"That," Geralt halted Roach suddenly, voice a growl behind Jaskier, who had stomped a few paces ahead of him on the road. "Is not true, Jaskier. You know that."

His bard's heart had nearly stopped when Geralt finally spoke - and so angrily. Jaskier knew he should have dropped the subject, but his temper was quicker than usual. Oh. I'll need to check my potion supply when we get into town. Irritability, mood swings, fatigue; yes, all signs pointed to the bard needing a dose of his voice and glamour enchantments as soon as possible. Lost in thought and still floored, Jaskier didn't notice Geralt ride up to him.

"Bard, you're blocking the road."

"Shit!" Jaskier jumped. "Geralt, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to keep, er, bitching at you. Seriously, I have a lot on my mind at the moment." The Witcher's brow furrowed, and his yellow eyes softened in something close to affection. "I know I'm not an inconvenience to you, dear Witcher," Jaskier continued, jokingly bowing and stepping out of the middle of the road to walk beside his friend again. The bard was too lost in the latest fluffy summer road song he was composing to see Geralt smiling fondly over him.

* * *

With Roach comfortably stabled, and Jaskier's chest still snugly bound, the Witcher led his bard into the town's warm inn at last. Geralt had been reluctant to wrap his friend's chest only a few days since their rusalka incident, of course, but since their fight earlier that day, he had chosen not to bring up these more sensitive areas of Jaskier's life. At least until the Witcher could learn more, and learn what he could do to help. Geralt did not want to see Jaskier so upset because of him again. Was he going to say that? Of course not.

This time, Geralt was lost in thought, scanning the inn's common area and pub while Jaskier (he assumed) was going to arrange for some well-deserved food and accommodations. It was Geralt who cursed, too, when he finally brought his yellow gaze back to his bard - unmoving but for quaking hands, pale, sweat beading his forehead.

"Shit, Jaskier," the Witcher hurried to his side and spoke in a concerned whisper. "Are you ill- er, what's wrong?"

"G-Geralt, th-that man," the bard's eyes were locked on someone sitting at the bar.

Geralt glanced over and took him in: a burly, hairy man, a little shorter than the Witcher, was on his second tankard of ale. He had a mean look, and scars over his knuckles.

"He knows me," Jaskier continued, swallowing, but trembling. "He kn- _knows about me_ , Geralt. I can't stay here, he'll-" The bard inhaled shakily, and his Witcher was patient as he listened despite the anger boiling in his belly for the stranger at the bar.

"I've met those big hands of his, less than nicely, more than once. Especially after, I ... I started being who I am now. People don't take well to their ladies turning into _men like me_."

Geralt's eyes flashed with protective anger and outright hatred. That man had been with his bard before Jaskier was Jaskier, beat him, and hated the beautiful man for who he was. Hated this amazing, incredible man that Geralt... The Witcher shook his head as a growl rumbled in his chest.

"Come with me." He took Jaskier by the hand abruptly dragged the small man from the inn entrance, upstairs, and into a vacant room at the very end of the hallway. Geralt looked around - a bed, table, chairs, fireplace, washbasin... _Perfect, good._

"Stay here," he ordered his bard. "Wh-What? G-Geralt?" Jaskier yelped, confused about everything going on- and _oh_. He was alone in the room.

Geralt had left their baggage here on the floor before he stormed downstairs, so Jaskier went about making himself comfortable with a change of clothes. He washed his face at the basin as well and made a mental note to get the biggest bathtub the inn had to offer brought up later that evening. The bard sighed, plopping down onto the bed and fidgeting with his hands. He could hear a commotion from the bar below and the slamming of doors. Jaskier could have sworn her heard even louder crashing from outside, raised voices... something bubbled up inside the bard that wasn't anxiety.

_He's fighting for me!_

The bard grinned to himself and laid back on the bed, legs dangling off the side. He felt like a giddy teenager. Suddenly Jaskier sat up, shivering, and looked at the empty (though clean) hearth at the foot of the bed. He stood, and not hearing any more fighting outside or below, decided to head out in search of a maid downstairs to fuel the hearth. Plus, he still needed to arrange for payment and perhaps a deal playing for the bar patrons. Jaskier's hand was nearly at the doorknob when the door itself was flung open by...

"Geralt?" Or at least that's who the bard thought was behind the heaps of food the man was carrying. Jaskier hurriedly helped him get the provisions laid out on the table. He also thanked a young woman who followed Geralt into the room, to build and light the fire. There was plenty of bread, cured and smoked meats, cheese, butter, wine, sour pickles, and biscuits. The bard's mouth watered, and he joined the Witcher at the table to dig in.

"Where were you?" The bard rushed into his questioning as soon as the maid left, after promising the two companions their most enormous tub to be brought up, of course. "How did we get all this?" He was trying not to speak with his mouth full, but he needed to know all the juicy details of his brave Witcher's evident fight in the bar.

"Mm, hold on," Geralt drank a mouthful of wine before he spoke, and looking across the table at him, Jaskier could see in the firelight that his friend had not escaped unscathed. A red-and-purple bruise spread over Geralt's left temple and cheekbone, and his right cheek looked pretty scraped up as well.

The Witcher noticed his dear companion's concerned staring at his face and dismissed it. "This is nothing, the bastard got in a mean elbow to my face when I got him out into the alley." He looked with burning intensity into Jaskier's eyes then. "You don't have to worry about him. He's not going to be coming back to this place ever again, and we have free food and lodging here, as long as we need it."

The bard dropped his food. "Free?! How-?"

"Your old... acquaintance has been causing trouble here for quite some time. Always finding his way back in the gates, back in the inn, trying to get in the staff's beds." Jaskier shuddered, inferring from that what he could. Based on his past experience with... Him, yeah, nothing was off-limits. Disgusting. The Witcher continued on, explaining how the (majority female) staff at this inn were now so grateful to him, they would let their hero and his friend stay free of charge.

"And don't forget," Jaskier's eyes shone with stars, and Geralt felt some strange warm sensation fill up his insides. Maybe it was the wine. "You fought for me. Geralt, you're my hero..." The bard was half-teasing, eyes showing more gratitude than he was saying, and went back to his food.

Geralt drank another mouthful of wine and took a moment to find it within himself to do so, but the Witcher reached out across the table and took Jaskier's hand.

"I am never going to stop fighting for you."

The bard let out a noise of surprise and affection and held onto Geralt's hand tightly. He spoke softly, honestly then:

"A lot of people don't agree with... men like me, you'll be fighting more men than monsters, dearheart," Jaskier sighed.

"Anyone who disagrees with you, with men like you, better wait in fear of _your Witcher_ , then." Jaskier laughed, and Geralt did too, even though he meant what he said.

The bard knew that _his Geralt_ would do anything for him. Jaskier was so lucky to be loved by a man like him.


	3. The Blue Songbird

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The bard was grateful and amazed that he could have all this for himself. He would never be able to repay the witch.
> 
> “How… how do I repay you for this?” Dandelion was cautious, keeping in mind that knowledge of fairies.
> 
> “Twelve vials of Blue Songbird,” Alina held up a thumb-sized vial, one of a set of twelve she had prepared for the bard for bottling the potion. “For twelve vials of your blood.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> czarodziejki - the Polish word for fairies, (roughly pronounced CHA-roh-jee-eh-kee ... I'm Polish Canadian but explaining how to pronounce the language is HARD, so forgive me)
> 
> Alina Dagmara is a sorceress that I made up for this, but she's based on the Ceridwen, the white witch/goddess of poetry and transformation in Welsh Celtic lore.
> 
> This chapter btw, starts off in a flashback then goes back to where chapter 2 left off!

Alina Dagmara is a powerful sorceress and one of the most powerful witches on the Continent. Ages ago, she was blessed by the gift of poetic wisdom, inspiration, and prophecy, given to her by the queen of the czarodziejki. Her power was in brewing great potions for those in need.

Potions brewed by Alina range in effect, such as changing the appearances of others, allowing the imbiber to shapeshift, or give the gift of czarodziejki outright. Though her potions grant gifts, they are also quite dangerous. A single drop of the drink past the lips of the one it’s not intended for turns into the deadliest poison. The sorceress wishes for all to know that power comes with a price in that way, and in one other – to keep the magic’s intent over the person she gives her potions to, the witch requires the same amount of the other’s blood in return. 

Once upon a time, a young blue-eyed man came to Alina’s secluded cottage. The man was dressed in fine bright clothes and sported a days-old black eye with a matching scabbed split lip. This man - a bard, fresh out of Oxenfurt she reckoned, by the lute and youthful spirit he carried – had gone through a lot on his way to her.

“Young Bard, you have fought your way to Alina Dagmara to seek potions, yes? Tell an old woman your name and what it is you desire.”

The witch took her new client by the elbow and sat him down on a stool that was centred before a cauldron in a room with floor-to-ceiling shelves of potions, potion ingredients and bottles of… the bard cringed- blood. There were tables around the cauldron, stained with ages upon ages of spilled ingredients. Now they were clear, ready for the next concoction.

“My name is Dandelion,” said the bard, voice higher and lighter than the crone had expected. He knew not to give the name that truly belonged to him, to someone so tied up in the world of czarodzijki. Fairies were known to steal names, everyone knew that.

“I am a troubadour, but I… haven’t had much luck with anything since I started, um,” the bard swallowed. “Being myself, being a man.”

The witch understood. Countless others had come to her over the centuries, people who needed her potions to change their bodies and voices to suit themselves better than the ones they had come into naturally. Alina had a soft spot for these clients, much easier to deal with than reckless warriors demanding strength beyond they can handle in the end.

The bard spoke again, telling the sorceress the most significant issue he faced at the time.

“I need a man’s voice, a deep voice. Please, that’s it. Something to keep my song and conversation from giving me away.” He gestured to the old bruise on his face, and scabbed lip. Binding his chest and dressing masculinely only went so far.

The sorceress started moving around the room, levitating to the higher shelves, taking several jars of ingredients, and smaller colourful potion bottles. Alina approached the cauldron, ready to start her magic. She filled poured an ornate jug of water into the deep pot, which appeared empty and looked as if it must be, but the bard watched in wonder as the pitcher filled the cauldron up about halfway full.  _ Magic. _

“I sense your deep poetic wisdom, and I understand your desires, Bard Dandelion.”

The witch spoke, her old fingers deftly opened the containers of magical herbs and concoctions and added them in varying amounts to her cauldron. Alina lit a fire under it, that she cast out of thin air, and let it start to bubble.

“Once finished, the Blue Songbird will deepen your voice to the range that will keep you safe and disguised. You may find you sing better, find more ideas for songs, and speak more charmingly. Alina knows what a bard needs, she knows.” The witch crooned, stirring the cauldron for a moment and pointing her long wooden spoon at the bard who sat before her. “And she knows it needs to last, so one vial every two weeks will keep your voice deep, beautiful, and  _ all yours _ .”

The bard was grateful and amazed that he could have all this for himself. He would never be able to repay the witch.

“How… how do I repay you for this?” Dandelion was cautious, keeping in mind that knowledge of fairies.

“Twelve vials of Blue Songbird,” Alina held up a thumb-sized vial, one of a set of twelve she had prepared for the bard for bottling the potion. “For twelve vials of your blood.”

The bard paled,  _ well… all magic has a price. _

“A good deal, yes? Alina knows, here dearie, just your wrist.” She took the bard’s left wrist, rolled up his sleeve, and held it aloft. “The first drop goes into the cauldron; makes sure your Blue Songbird only works on  _ you _ . Only deadly poison to anyone who should try to take my potions without paying my fee.”

She produced a slender silver dagger, the handle inscribed with a language the bard couldn’t read. He closed his hand in a fist and looked away as Alina slit into the pale flesh of his wrist. Dandelion winced, the witch using magic to draw blood from his wrist and pulling through the air a single drop for the cauldron, and then enough to fill twelve empty vials, one by one.

The bard stared into the bubbling blue potion in the cauldron and reminded himself:  _ Hold on Jaskier, this is going to change everything; it will be worth it. _

* * *

TWO YEARS LATER

Jaskier blushed and hastily relinquished his Witcher’s hand that he had been holding, when two muscular cooks, the only male staff in the place, arrived with their biggest bathtub. Geralt shot the bard a look of, what, are you embarrassed? and nodded to the men as they left, closing the door behind them. The bard whistled; the tub was big enough for them both.

“Having you for protection really does come with upsides…” Jaskier gulped down some more wine, a mouthful of bread and stood up. “Finish up, get undressed, and join me, okay?”

Usually, it was Geralt nude in the tube, alone while Jaskier so gently took care to wash him. The bard never stripped in front of the other, which was understandable. Geralt hoped they would grow even closer as he found out more about who his bard was. Admittedly, the Witcher loved the intimate moments he could have with Jaskier, whatever they were, always fearing in the back of his mind about the bard’s time with him being cut short by tragedy or conflict. But as he had said, he was going to keep fighting for the bard as long as he could.

Fighting the abusive ex-lover of his dear companion had worked up his appetite, so Geralt took his time at the last nibbles of what he was eating, watching Jaskier undress with a hungrier gaze than he expected. This might turn out to be a rather fun night if the bard would indulge his Witcher’s lust.

Jaskier was barefoot, shirtless and unbound, thinking the same thing about the coming night as he rummaged for the soft leather case that stored his Blue Songbird potions. There were a lot of layers to the magic in the potion, ones that increased the bard’s libido and body hair as well. Some effects only started appearing once he had been using the medicines for a while, but with each new change to himself, Jaskier loved and felt like himself more and more. After this dose, he knew he would have Geralt on his mind in every filthy way imaginable and grinned impishly. That is if the Witcher was up for it, of course.

There were four vials left, three after he drank tonight’s dose. In about a month, he’d need to see Alina again and go through the payment for more. This was the routine; every six months, he gave his blood in return for the magic that made him… him. The bard wondered how many other men like him used magic to help their journeys.

“What’s that?” Geralt’s voice was right in Jaskier’s ear, he spoke gruffly, and his warm breath sent a shiver down the bard’s spine.

“Hello to you too, o Silent White Wolf,” he teased his Witcher.

“This,” the bard shook the small vial of shining blue potion in front of Geralt. “Is how yours truly gets this sexy, effortlessly  _ manly voice _ .” Jaskier patted the other on his broad chest. “Surprised you haven’t caught me taking these. Every two weeks!”

Geralt ran his hands down the bard’s forearms and held him softly in his warm, yellow gaze. The bard grew more and more beautiful, the more the Witcher learned. He was used to potions, of course, and could withstand much stronger ones in large quantities with his mutations. One thing he never thought of was that Jaskier would be using magic to help him be more himself. It made sense, and Geralt smiled, undressing as the bard uncorked the bottle and downed it, smacking his lips at the familiar minty but perfume-like taste.

Before Jaskier could finish getting undressed and into the steamy tub waiting for them, naked Geralt had his massive, muscular arms around the small man’s waist. He pulled the bard close to him and captured him in a deep and urgent kiss. Jaskier couldn’t help but moan into the other’s mouth, hands reaching up into the other’s long, silver hair. He held Geralt there, kissing him once more and then pulling back. He was flushed and grinned at the matching red cast that spread over the other’s face and chest. The Witcher’s pupils were dilated wide as he stepped back, unsure if he had done the right thing by acting out on these urges.

“Sorry, Jaskier, I just, you’re,” He looked at the floor. “Jaskier, you are so beautiful.

“Have you any idea how long I’ve waited for you to do that?” Jaskier stripped to the nude, eyes affectionately locked on the one who had kissed him so ferociously. He’d never let Geralt see him below the waist before, but he now knew the bard’s inner truth, so Jaskier wasn’t going to be shy about his nudity (at least around Geralt) anymore. “And look who’s talking, gorgeous,” the bard crooned. 

He took one of Geralt's hands and guided it over his body, down the soft sloping of his hips and over all of his curves. The Witcher reveled in the feeling of the creamy soft skin he felt under his fingertips, and the bard thought he heard him  _ purr _ . No matter his anatomy or what kind of man he was, Geralt knew he would always love and want this man.

“Let’s have that bath,” He spoke in a low growl.


	4. Beautiful Things

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Watching the Witcher sink into the large tub across from him, silver hair hanging loose to his shoulders, Jaskier found a new warm softness in Geralt’s honey-coloured eyes. Every scar adorning the other’s body was a perfect mark on the work of art that was his Witcher.  
> The bard couldn’t help but lick his lips at the sight of Geralt so content and stunning. Jaskier knew to anticipate a surge of hormone-driven lust after his dose of Blue Songbird, and it was taking everything in his tightly-wound body to not throw himself at his muse.

“Fine!”

Jaskier the bard pouted jokingly, an over-the-top-expression thrown over his shoulder to Geralt as he turned to bounce his naked self over to the bathtub. He was still dizzy from the heartfelt, intense exchange they just had. A growl that was almost a laugh escaped from the Witcher’s throat as he closed the space between himself and his bard with speed. Jaskier flushed red and gasped at the sudden presence of his muse’s large hand grabbing his asscheek firmly.

  
“Not so fast, bard,” Geralt’s eyes flashed in the dimly lit room. Jaskier shivered.

  
Relinquishing the smaller man at last, he chuckled. The flushed and wobbly-kneed bard reminded the Witcher of a fawn. Jaskier sunk into the tub with a groan of pleasure. 

  
“Gods, this feels good,” the bard was slowly sinking down into the large basin of warm clean water.   
His ribs were always stiff after binding, let alone the added stress of nearly drowning earlier that week. Jaskier relished in the soothing effect the warm water had on his tired bones and lungs. The Witcher was relishing in knowing that his bard was getting some much needed relief. 

  
“Sit up a bit for me?” Geralt spoke quietly, ready to get into the tub and enjoy every second of this intimate time spent with Jaskier.

  
“For you? Of course dear heart,” the bard spoke quietly, blushing again at the Witcher’s words. Yes, anything for you! 

  
Watching the Witcher sink into the large tub across from him, silver hair hanging loose to his shoulders, Jaskier found a new warm softness in Geralt’s honey-coloured eyes. Every scar adorning the other’s body was a perfect mark on the work of art that was his Witcher. 

  
“Mmmm, you’re right.” Geralt rumbled, feeling the tension melt away from his own muscles in the water. The monster was now seated across from Jaskier in the tub, knees bent and legs apart, and the moved so his legs leaned against the inside of the other’s. 

  
The bard couldn’t help but lick his lips at the sight of Geralt so content and stunning. Jaskier knew to anticipate a surge of hormone-driven lust after his dose of Blue Songbird, and it was taking everything in his tightly-wound body to not throw himself at his muse.

  
While Geralt had a sharp eye for detail surpassing any man, even more enhanced by using potions, Jaskier had an eye for beauty. He could find something to appreciate, something inspiring, memorable, and gorgeous in anyone and anything. However, not long ago there were times – when the bard had been outed to unsavoury locals, more than once – when he struggled to find anything to appreciate about himself. Of course, Jaskier still had times where he couldn’t stand his physical appearance or lingering feminine characteristics, but ever since he started using The Blue Songbird, those feelings had been subsiding quickly.

  
One thing that Jaskier knew for sure was that living on the road with Geralt was one of the most inspiring and beautiful things he could have chosen to do. And the gorgeousness of the White Wolf was never-ending to his humble bard. Every new moment of intimacy became Jaskier’s happiest moment alive. _He called me beautiful…_

  
Geralt’s brows were knit together as he watched his bard, who seemed lost in thought. Jaskier was being far more quiet than usual.

  
“Are…Are you alright?” the Witcher broke the silence hanging between them and took his bard’s hands gently in his own. He could have sworn the blue-eyed man before him melted, and Geralt felt his cheeks heat up.

  
“Geralt, I am so much better than alright,” Jaskier responded. “I could never have… ever imagined a better person to have shared these, er, strange parts of myself with.”

  
The Witcher’s expression turned incredulous, but the bard spoke again – a quiet, shy question that Geralt didn’t expect. Jaskier couldn’t meet his eyes, and was chewing his lip.

  
“D-did you really mean what you said? When you called me-“

  
“Beautiful.” 

  
Geralt finished that sentence before his companion could. He pulled the man towards him, looping Jaskier’s legs over his own hips so that the bard was securely on the lap of his Witcher.

  
“Yes, I meant it. You are my favourite beautiful thing.”

  
The human’s rapid heartbeat and the heat from his skin told the white-haired one all he needed. Geralt leaned into Jaskier and planted a gentle, meaningful kiss upon his lips. He blinked his golden eyes, pupils widening, looking into the crystal clear blue eyes of the bard.

  
“Oh, Geralt,”

  
Whatever else Jaskier wanted to say, he forgot, passion overcoming him at last as he pushed his hands into the White Wolf’s silvery locks and locked him in a ravenous kiss. A growl or a purr rumbled deep in Geralt’s chest as he grabbed hungrily at his bard, hands sliding over and taking in the feeling of every inch of the man’s body. The breath escaping between their fervent, heated kisses was melting into sugary sweet moans from Jaskier. Each new noise of pleasure was getting the Witcher increasingly hard and hot for his beautiful bard.

  
Jaskier could feel his Witcher’s cock growing and twitching between them, and couldn’t resist grinding against it in the tub as their lust clouded around them like steam. The bard guided Geralt’s large hands to his soft breasts, indicating to please, _please_ , play with him. 

  
“Gods, I don’t want you stop touching me,” Jaskier panted when he broke apart from the other’s lips. “But I don’t fancy almost drowning again, and certainly not in a bathtub.”

  
Geralt roughly picked up the bard, hoisting the other’s legs up more as he stood up in the tub. Jaskier gasped and gripped onto the Witcher’s hard-muscled frame, twitching in anticipation at the feeling of the other’s member now sitting firmly against the underside of his ass. 

  
Dripping wet and steeped in desire, Geralt stepped out of the tub and walked over to the bed to lay his lover down upon it. Jaskier scooted to the edge of the bed, feet on the ground but laid back, and reached down to gently rub his clit – enlarged from the treatments of Blue Songbird, hard and extra-sensitive from the exquisite session in the bathtub.

  
“Hmmm,” the Witcher rumbled, stroking his cock with a hungry look in his eye, “Better now, bard?”

  
Jaskier’s breath was uneven, and even this brief moment without Geralt all over him was too much to handle. Despite his overwhelming arousal, the bard resisted screaming, _Just fuck me already!_

  
The White Wolf had other ideas.

  
Kneeling between Jaskier’s open legs, Geralt began sucking small marks onto the sensitive, fuzzy skin inside the bard’s thighs. Jaskier stroked his clit between thumb and forefinger, eyes rolled back. The bard couldn’t hold back his moans of pleasure at the points of blissful pain that his muse was creating between his soft legs.

  
“You make the most delicious sounds, my beautiful bard,” Geralt praised. “Let me see if you’re just as delicious… everywhere.” 

  
Jaskier gulped, _oh gods, oh gods, he’s going to eat me out!_ How many times had he fantasized about this?

  
The Witcher took his songbird’s hand away from its busy efforts, moving it to one soft thigh, and squeezed it. His other hand he traced up the bard’s thigh, before coming to rest his thumb against Jaskier’s slick opening. The bard moaned as Geralt swirled his thumb through the wetness leaking from his bard’s cunt, and swiped it over his hard, twitching clit. He continued rubbing gentle, slow circles over and around the smaller man’s little cock had Jaskier’s entire body quivering at the sensation. 

  
“So good for me,” the Witcher crooned. The bard was seeing stars.

  
As much as Geralt was enjoying his favourite beautiful thing’s honey-drenched moans and pleas for more, the White Wolf was just getting started.

  
Now gently pulling open his bard’s cunt ever so slightly, Geralt was leaning in, open-mouthed and-

  
“Aah, ah, fuck,” Jaskier was almost embarrassed at the involuntary bucking of his hips. 

  
His Witcher was sloppily, thoroughly, shamelessly licking and sucking the life out of him through his oversensitive pussy. Geralt wanted nothing more than to bring Jaskier as much pleasure as possible, and he found his own thoughts becoming foggy as he tasted and savoured just how delicious his little bard was. His strong hands gripped the bard’s shaking thighs, keeping him as spread open as possible. Jaskier’s hands were tangled now in Geralt’s hair, gentle tugs eliciting grunts and hums of pleasure from the Witcher so happily lapping between his legs.

  
Focusing his mouth solely on his bard’s swollen little cock, the White Wolf slid his hand up from Jaskier’s thigh and plunged one digit, then two into the wetness of his cunt.

  
“Fu-u-u-u-ck… G-Geralt!” the bard rolled his hips almost automatically as his muse began to pump those two fingers in and out, all the while flicking his tongue over and sucking on Jaskier’s clit.

  
Geralt quickly picked up the pace as he fingered his songbird harder and deeper, unable to contain his own moans at how amazing Jaskier felt, tasted, smelled… He hadn’t touched his own now-leaking cock, focusing entirely on the pleasure of his bard, but gods, he just wanted to fuck Jaskier already.

  
“F-Fuck, Geralt, fuck me, please,” The bard’s voice was high, quivering as he felt himself get so close to the edge of ecstasy.

  
Hastily, Jaskier scooted back on the bed, and Geralt was over him in an instant, his impressive cock desperate to fill the bard. One hand reached down to guide it, the Witcher slid his length slowly into his positively soaking wet bard with a guttural groan. Jaskier had no filter on the filth and profanities that poured out of him at the gorgeous feeling of being filled up and fucked by Geralt of Rivia. His Witcher, his world. The White Wolf started with a few slow thrusts of his hips to get the bard used to his size, but couldn’t stop his desire and was quickly pounding Jaskier fiercely.

  
“Feels so fucking good, Jaskier. So, fucking, good…” Geralt was kissing and marking up his bard’s beautiful throat with marks to match the ones he left on Jaskier’s thighs. His fingers were teasing, rubbing, pinching the bard’s nipples. The Witcher growled as pleasure pooled hot in his belly, fucking his beautiful bard more roughly and desperately now.

  
“I-I’m gonna c-come, oh fuck, Gera-“ The bard’s words were drawn out into an intense cry of pleasure, arching his spine as his orgasm ripped through him. His nails dug into the Witcher’s back, scratching and leaving new pink marks among gorgeous scars.

  
His hips bucked and rolled hard, faster than even Geralt’s pace, as he rode through the pulsing waves of bliss. Jaskier’s fevered motions and throbbing cunt threw the White Wolf over the edge with a series of groans. Geralt arched over his bard and bit into the soft white flesh of the man’s shoulder. There was a mark, but no broken skin when the Witcher raised his head to look at the blissed-out, scarlet-flushed face of the bard he just fucked the daylights out of.

  
He pulled out, planted a long kiss upon Jaskier’s panting mouth, and crossed the room to fetch a washcloth. Dampened with the now-abandoned bathwater, the Witcher gently cleaned up his bard’s overstimulated place of pleasure. Jaskier was too exhausted and trembling too much to do anything but lay there and hum contentedly as he was cleaned up.

  
Later on that evening the two of them lay in bed, clean, sated, wrapped up in each other’s arms, and just as naked as they had been all evening. Jaskier kissed Geralt goodnight and spoke.

  
“You’re my favourite beautiful thing, too.”


	5. A Cold Morning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This was the first winter Jaskier was spending at Kaer Morhen, and while he was comfortable being every bit himself around his white wolf, he was nervous about the handful of other witchers on their way to the castle. Would his secret come out somehow, and cause problems? What if Geralt’s brothers weren’t as accepting as he was?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the first of a two or three-part arc abt Jaskier and Geralt in Kaer Morhen over the winter, bc it’s very very hot where I am and I wanna write stuff about snow and winter coziness.

The winter morning light cast a bright patch across the foot of the large bed where the bard and his witcher were pressed close against one another under the covers and furs.

“You’re so cute when you’re half asleep like this.”

Jaskier spoke, without raising his head from its resting place on Geralt’s naked chest. The witcher was lazily combing one hand through his songbird’s chestnut locks. 

“Not cute, Jaskier,” his sleepy mumbled words just made the bard laugh, and didn’t help Geralt’s case much. He tugged on Jaskier’s hair for a brief moment and growled through his own grin.

“Ow! Hey!” Jaskier squirmed away, sitting up and dislodging the covers from their bed. Both were naked above the waist and the sudden cold air was a shock. “Fuck!” he scrambled to get their covers back on.

Geralt laughed at Jaskier’s self-made chilly misfortune and pulled the bard against his chest again in a tight embrace.

“Let’s just stay in bed,” Jaskier’s voice was muffled against Geralt. “We don’t have to do anything today, do we?”

The two of them had been the first to arrive at Kaer Morhen after Vesemir, who had been there for a good few weeks prior. Meeting Geralt's father-figure had gone smoothly enough, though Jaskier could see where his witcher got all his grouchiness from. The bard found it endearing after travelling alongside the white wolf for so long. This was the first winter the bard was spending at the mountain keep, and while he was comfortable being every bit himself around his white wolf, he was nervous about the handful of witchers on their way to the castle. Would his secret come out somehow, and cause problems? What if Geralt’s brothers weren’t as accepting as he was?

The bard felt his white wolf’s voice rumble through his chest.

“I have to get up and get a fire started in here, and find out if anyone else made it back overnight,” the witcher gave his bard one last squeeze and kissed his head before extracting himself from the bed, throwing on a shirt and leaving to get firewood.

Jaskier frowned and buried himself deeper in the blankets, suddenly self conscious of his unbound chest, though he was now in the room alone.The bard had hoped to still have more time in his comfortable bubble. Between chores to ready the keep for winter, the last week or so had been spent with the Old Wolf going about his own business, and Geralt telling Jaskier stories about life at Kaer Morhen. The bard had stayed comfortably unbound, usually in one of his witcher's big shirts to disguise his curves. If there were going to be new people coming, he'd have to start binding again. Jaskier could already feel his ribs ache.

Maybe no one else is coming back for a while. He doubted it, if the freezing room was any indication. Each day was getting colder, and heavy snow would soon follow. As winter bore down, the witchers would be back. 

Jaskier stayed under the covers and stewed. Geralt soon returned, set a few logs in the fireplace, and cast a quick Igni to light it with a whoosh. He made a mental note to bring a store of firewood up to their room and save them both cold trips down for more. Their room. It had been Geralt's since his Trials so many years ago, but it was his and Jaskier's now that the bars had come to spend the winter.

The Witcher never thought he'd be comfortable sharing so much of himself, of his life, with anyone. Something about Jaskier made it easy. Geralt loved him, and he knew nothing was going to change that. 

With the fire crackling away and warmth spreading through their room, the Witcher turned back to the lump of bard on the bed. He frowned, smelling the anxiety and discontent coming from Jaskier.

"What's wrong?" Geralt asked simply, softly, as he sat on the edge of the bed and gently shook the man hidden under the covers.

Jaskier didn't respond. Geralt's brows knitted together in concern.

"Jaskier, what is it?"

The bard stuck his face out from the heap of blankets and looked up at Geralt with stormy blue eyes.

"What if," he spoke quietly. "What if your brothers find out about me. About…." 

Geralt sighed. He knew what Jaskier meant.

"I mean, what if they have a problem with it? With me?" His voice was anxious as he peeked up at the white wolf.

"Jaskier. Come here."

Geralt moved to sit with his back against the headboard, and Jaskier emerged from his cozy cocoon. He sat in the witcher's lap, facing him, waiting nervously for the other man to speak. Geralt gently took the bard's smaller hands in his own. The witcher gazed with unique affection into his bard's blue eyes, his own reflecting the golden warmth of the fire as he spoke:

"I won't tell them anything you don't want them to know. You know that right?" 

Jaskier nodded, chewing his lip.

"And you know that if any of my brothers has any kind of problem with you, I'll kick their asses, right?"

The bard blushed, smiled, and nodded again. He leaned forward to rest his forehead against Geralt's shoulder, wrapping his arms around the witcher's muscled torso. Geralt ran his hands up and down Jaskier's naked back and sides.

"You're safe here. You're safe with me. If anything happens here that makes you uncomfortable, or upset, you tell me. My brothers can be real assholes, but they're not small-minded. Once you get to know them you can decide what you want to share. Sound good?"

"Hmm, yeah," Jaskier had relaxed quickly, and feeling reassured, he left a kiss on Geralt's shoulder before leaning back to look at him. "Do you know when they're coming?"

"A storm is going to hit in a few days, so I expect before then. Unless they want to get stuck out there anyway."

A sly sort of smile spread across Jaskier's face. Geralt raised an eyebrow, though he could guess what the bard was going to suggest.

"We'll have to make sure we make the most of the next couple of days alone up here together then, hmm?" 

Geralt grinned wickedly, pulled Jaskier against him, captured in a heated kiss. When they broke apart, both were flushed and panting. The witcher's voice was low with lust and sent a delighted shiver through his bard:

"I guess we can stay in bed today, for a little longer."


End file.
